


A Question to Be Answered

by babydollbucky



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Pillow Talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:06:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23513602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babydollbucky/pseuds/babydollbucky
Summary: "What did you want to be, when you were little?" Jaskier asked, apropos of nothing.His heart broke.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 16
Kudos: 245





	A Question to Be Answered

**Author's Note:**

> Yen's question made me think what a little boy would have wanted to be. 
> 
> Beta work by reignofdreams   
> Thank you, dearie!

"What did you want to be, when you were little?" Jaskier asked, apropos of nothing. 

They sat by a fire of Jaskier's own creation, having just finished their dinner of bland...squirrel? He wasn't actually sure what it was. After having been on the road for a few years, and travelling with Geralt, he found that there were many more edible creatures than he'd thought as a teenager. He was just grateful for the food.

"What?" the larger man replied. His brows were pinched in confusion. 

With a small smile, the bard repeated, "What did you want to be when you grew up?"

Geralt's confusion melted away, then morphed into one of… something Jaskier couldn't place. The witcher was hard to read when he wanted to be, even now. Though, Jaskier claimed the title of _ most able to interpret his witcher. _ He was used to Geralt's taciturn ways, didn't mind it, but was hoping to get some reaction other than a grunt this time. 

They were in love, after all.

Alas, the grunt was all he got. Oh, well. 

"I wanted to be a knight. I know what you're thinking-- _ me  _ with a _ sword? _ Terrifying. You've seen me try, it's not good, Geralt, not good. I came to my senses the first time I picked up a lute, my older brother's throwaway. He wanted nothing to do with it, so I took it and taught myself every song I knew- not many at that point-I was 8. But I was still fascinated with sword fighting. When I got older, I realized that it _ definitely  _ wasn't for me. I didn't want to kill anyone, nor did I want to serve anyone. So I set out on my own when I was 16, discovered I could entertain people, and be paid for it, and stuck to it." 

"I can show you how to use a sword," Geralt said with an amused twitch of his lips. 

"I… you would do that?" Jaskier asked, a bit surprised. He'd honestly never considered just  _ asking  _ Geralt to show him a few tricks. It would certainly benefit him. 

And it could be  _ fun _ . 

"If you want. Should've done it a long time ago. I'm not much of a teacher, though." 

Jaskier smiled sadly at the man's self deprecation. Geralt didn't usually have anything good to say about himself unless it addressed his ability to kill. Jaskier was determined to rehabilitate not only the public's view of him, but his perception of himself as well. 

He  _ would _ make Geralt see that he was not a monster. 

"I think I ought to start with daggers… or maybe a practice sword, yes? I'm not looking to injure either of us," Jaskier said, hoping to make the Witcher smile, even a little. 

"I'll make one tomorrow, then," Geralt replied flatly, not a smile in sight. He was staring into the fire, like he wasn't really there. Oh, he was still alert and aware of everything, of course; he couldn't afford a lapse in awareness. But he looked and sounded far away. 

It didn't happen often, but Jaskier always hesitated to speak when Geralt got like this. It meant he'd inadvertently hit a nerve with his incessant chatter. 

Although the large man had been more open with him since their reunion and subsequent romance, he was still reluctant to share most things. Jaskier had learned not to push too hard, as he had no desire to upset his love.

"Tomorrow, then," he said gently, sidling up to Geralt. He leaned into his side, no longer experiencing the trepidation of long ago that he might be shoved away. He knew he was welcome in Geralt's space. 

Not long after, they settled into their double bed roll, Geralt's front to Jaskier's back. An arm laid across his middle and he scooted back to get as close as possible. Jaskier was sure he'd never felt more safe than when Geralt held him. 

It could've been minutes or hours that they laid there, waiting for sleep. Only the sound of Roach shuffling around broke the gentle noises of the breeze around them. 

"...A healer," came the soft rumble of Geralt's voice behind him. 

"What?" He'd been on the verge of sleep, and so was unsure what Geralt was referring to, having forgotten his earlier question. 

There was no answer for long enough that he surmised Geralt had either fallen asleep, or just didn't feel like explaining. He'd decided to let sleep have him for the night, when he heard Geralt speak again. It was soft, almost like he didn't realize he was speaking. 

"I wanted… to be a healer. Like my mother."

His heart  _ broke _ . 

_ Oh, Geralt… _

He'd wanted to be like his mother. The mother he must have loved dearly. The mother who'd taken care of him as a child. The mother who was a sorceress and doctor. 

The mother who had abandoned him. The mother whom he barely remembered. Who had, without explanation, without a goodbye, left him at the foot of a mountain, with the witchers. Left him to a life of pain and loneliness. 

_ Oh gods.  _

Jaskier took a breath, let it out softly. He turned in Geralt's arms, making sure he was eye to eye with him. He snaked an arm out from under the blanket, and held Geralt's face firmly in place. He didn't want Geralt to be able to look away from him. 

"Jaskier, what--" the witcher's words caught in his throat when he looked into the cerulean eyes of his love. 

Fat tears rolled sideways down his face, across the bridge of his nose and down his cheek. Despite the sadness there--and  _ fuck _ , he hadn't intended to make Jaskier upset, what a moron he was!--there was also such fierceness in his gaze. 

It stole Geralt's breath away. 

He could only meet Jaskier's eyes in confusion. Was he mad? Why was he looking at Geralt that way? 

"I love you," Jaskier whispered hoarsely. "I love you, Geralt. Don't you ever doubt that," he said, grabbing his chin and giving Geralt's face a gentle shake, as if to drive his words into the other man's brain. 

"I-what? Jaskier, what's wrong?" came Geralt's words after a beat. "You don't... have to tell me that. Why are you crying?" he asked, pleading for him to explain. 

Jaskier's heart broke a little more at the hesitant words. His thumb traced Geralt's cheekbone. "Of course I do. You deserve to hear it." He sniffled a bit and swiped at his eyes. "You would have made an excellent healer," he said softly. 

And suddenly, it clicked in Geralt's mind, why Jaskier was so upset. 

It was the mention of Visenna. 

When Geralt had told Jaskier how he'd come to be at Kaer Morhen, his face had gone stony, colder than he'd ever seen it before. He didn't understand it then. 

He did now. 

Jaskier and his bleeding heart, hurting for the child Geralt had once been, and for the man he was before they met. 

He sighed fondly, pulled him in closer by the waist, and kissed the bard's forehead. 

With a small, lopsided smile, Geralt ground out, "Thank you." 

Jaskier spluttered a bit at the open show of affection, but quieted when Geralt's face became solemn again. He listened. 

"I love you, Jaskier," was what rumbled out, seemingly from Geralt's chest. 

"I know... You don't have to say it," was the gentle reply, muffled by the witcher's neck. He snuggled closer and let his eyes fall shut. 


End file.
